The Night Calls
The world was dark and cold until she opened her eyes slowly.. once, twice, thrice. With each flicker she could make more sense of the bleary view. Their dark kitchen, sideways and chaotic. A chair flipped over, along with the table. And her.
Fyria’s head ached against the hard floor boards. By instinct trembling finger tips rose to brush her face, collecting cautious notes of the injuries. A weak whimper marked a raw spot found.
After the first thought managed to pierce it’s way into her consciousness, her eyes flicked wide and she pushed herself up, too swiftly, pale with horror, “Hank!?” She staggered across the dark room in despair, her hands grasping the old furnitures in search of support, “Hank!?!”
“I’m at the door!”, came a familiar voice, muffled by the walls of their house.
She smiled ever so widely, tears gleaming in her eyes as she scrambled toward the entrance of their farm, finding her husband sitting in the doorway.
He looked up at her with one eye. The other was swollen shut with bruises. A hand clutched at his side, trickles of crimson running across his fingers. She knelt by him, her trembling hysteric fingers studying his features lightly. A fearful whisper left her lips, “Are you alright, love?” Hank let out a heavy breath, “Yes...Just a scratch and some bruises.” He pushed himself up, appearing equally disoriented as his wife had been a moment before, blinking slowly as he leant against the frame of the door. “And are you alright?” He placed a hand on her shoulder, seeing little but her gleaming eyes in the darkness. She nodded, “Yes...I am alright.. Just some bruises, dear.”
A faint sound of crackling filled the air while a dim orange gleam crept across the yard, growing stronger and stronger as they stood there, silent. It stole his attention soon and he made down the stairs, walking slowly across the farmstead. She followed in his trail, quiet.
Until he halted. As did she by his side.
Two dark silhouettes stood still in the middle of the night, casting long shadows. In front of them roared a tall bonfire that had once been their barn. The fire’s red light illuminated their faces. He looked into the flames, bruised, defeated and hopeless. She looked at him, before directing her gaze at his life’s work, roaring orange.
Quietly she moved her hand to hold his.